‘My sister, Fanny Winterbottom,’ Miss Emily announced, ‘was not free from this fault. I recall an informal entertainment at our embassy in which she was invited to take part. It was a burlesque. Fanny was grotesquely attired and carried a vegetable bouquet. She was not without talent of a farouche sort and made something of a hit. Verb. sap.: as you shall hear. Inflamed by success she improvised a short equivocal speech at the end of which she flung her bouquet at H.E. It struck him in the diaphragm and might well have led to an incident.’

Miss Emily recalled her distant gaze and focused it upon Alleyn. ‘We are none of us free from this wild strain,’ she said, ‘but in my sister Fanny its manifestations were extreme. I cannot help but think there is a connection.’

‘Miss Emily, I don’t quite see what you mean.’

‘Then you are duller than your early promise led me to expect. Let me elaborate.’ This had always been an ominous threat with Miss Emily. She resumed her narrative style.

‘My sister Fanny,’ she said, ‘married. A Mr George Winterbottom who was profitably engaged in Trade. So much for him. He died, leaving her a childless widow with a more than respectable fortune. Included in her inheritance was the soi-disant island which I mentioned in my letter.’

‘Portcarrow?’

‘Precisely. You cannot be unaware of recent events on this otherwise characterless promontory.’

‘No, indeed.’

‘In that case I shall not elaborate. Suffice it to remind you that within the last two years there has arisen, fructified and flourished, a cult of which I entirely disapprove and which is the cause of my present concern and of my calling upon your advice.’

She paused. ‘Anything I can do, of course –’ Alleyn said.

‘Thank you. Your accent has deteriorated. To continue. Fanny, intemperate as ever, encouraged her tenants in their wart-claims. She visited the Island, interviewed the child in question, and, having at the time an infected outbreak on her thumb, plunged it in the spring whose extreme coldness possibly caused it to burst. It was no doubt ripe to do so but Fanny darted about talking of miracles. There were other cases of an equally hysterical character. The thing had caught on and my sister exploited it. The inn was enlarged, the spring was enclosed, advertisements appeared in the papers. A shop was erected on the Island. The residents, I understand, are making money hand-over-fist.’

‘I should imagine so.’

‘Very well. My sister Fanny (at the age of 87), has died. I have inherited her estates. I need hardly tell you that I refuse to countenance this unseemly charade, still less to profit by it.’

‘You propose to sell the place?’

‘Certainly not. Do,’ said Miss Emily sharply, ‘pull yourself together, Roderique. This is not what I expect of you.’

‘I beg your pardon, Miss Emily.’